Faith

Dear God,

I started my life believing you. Someone told me that you existed, like Santa, I guess. I prayed to you – mostly when my granny asked me, because I never remembered, I was too busy being a kid. Long way down the road, there was I, still believing you. Furthermore, I started questioning your existence. I think that’s a phase everyone goes through. Who are we? What are we doing? Is it something more out there? I stopped believing.

Now, I know better. Now I have a formed opinion about you – I don’t believe you exist. You can’t be true, at least not as good as they make you, because if there was a God like the one they introduce me too, the world would be much different.

I don’t believe you, and that’s what I believe in.

Maybe you’re an imaginary friend, but a common one global, universal. Like every one else, you’re just as real as we make you. And I don’t make you.

It’s okay. I respect other people’s devotion. It’s okay to need to believe in something bigger than us, it’s okay to deliver our souls and destiny  to the hands of ‘’someone’’. That way, we don’t feel so scared, so afraid to deal with our own future, we don’t feel so guilty with our mistakes. It’s okay to believe that we don’t choose every step of the way, that we don’t harm others, even when we do.

I don’t believe you. I believe in myself. I believe in the battles I fight, in the mistakes I try to minimize, in the victories I conquer. I believe in what I can do with my hands, and mostly, I believe in what I can overcome with my soul. I believe that we are human, and it’s in our nature to hurt others, to be kind, to be selfish, to feel proud, to believe…

I don’t believe you. But here I am, talking to you. You know why? Because she does. She spent her whole life believing you, praying to you, doing whatever she thought was her debt to you, to pay the ‘’crime’’ she didn’t commit. Here I am, talking to you, because she forgot about you the minute she needed you the most. And you didn’t do your part.

You didn’t reach out to her. You didn’t grab her hand, or whispered in her ear, or appeared in her dreams. You didn’t show up. You didn’t do a damn thing to make her know that all her beliefs were worth it.

I’m praying for her. Although I don’t believe you, I believe in hope, in faith. I believe that when we want something with our hearts, mind and spirit, it means something, it gets closer to reality.

I won’t ask you to cure her, I won’t ask you to keep her alive. I ask you to give her peace.

And to let her know, somehow, that it’s not her fault. That things are just they way You want them to be, and that You are the responsible for her pain. Not me, not her, not someone else – You. You’re the guilty one. You are God, you make things happen, right? You have a reason.

So, here I am, asking you, God, do your part. Show up. Be there in the end, light her way home, keep her on the right track. Do your job. I shall do mine, that is to honor, cherish and love her, until this day and beyond. I don’t believe in Heaven, but I hope she’s going there.

May the Gates open. Tell them she’s on her way.